


To Those Who Wait in Shadow

by sholvakree



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5361146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sholvakree/pseuds/sholvakree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes “good timing” is literally years away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Those Who Wait in Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2015 Tumblr Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang. Art tag-teamed with [cullensbooty](http://cullensbooty.tumblr.com/post/134873391857/for-all-the-days-of-my-life-my-first-piece-for)
> 
> Nerin's my second Warden, and my original headcanon is that she spent so much time in Arcane Warrior mode (for various and sundry reasons), that she became a Fade-ghost, functionally immortal but gradually losing all connection to her mortal kin. When I saw cullensbooty's sketch, my cold, dead heart suddenly felt warm again and dragged my penchant for inflicting misery on my babies kicking and screaming into the sun. Just this once, one of my Wardens gets to have a happy ending.

_Kinloch Hold, 9:30 Dragon_

Nerin Amell crept silently into the storeroom and sat motionlessly on a box of unsorted curios from Val Royeaux. She tried to summon some sort of emotion: fear, anger, sadness, anything really – but she could muster nothing. The emptiness was all-consuming.

Someone knocked on the door. Nerin knew only a handful of people who used this space: two of them were Tranquil with _very_ rigid schedules and the other was the First Enchanter, who was currently busy with other things.

( _The guilt seared through her for the first time in hours_ )

“It’s alright, Cullen,” she sighed. “Come in.”

The door creaked slightly as Cullen Rutherford gingerly made his way inside the room. “Should I close the door?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she said reflexively. He did as asked, though he hesitated briefly before closing the door in its entirety.

“You shouldn’t…I don’t think this is the best thing for you, being alone in the dark,” he said gently.

“Well, now I’m not alone,” she answered flatly.

_It won’t be alright you’re going to die gurgling poisoned bloody mess_

Cullen fumbled for her hands in the dark; they felt cold and dry. “What you did, you did out of necessity and the goodness of your heart. You were trying to save Jowan, that’s a noble thing.”

Nerin sniffed. “I betrayed my only friend for having the courage to do what I could not: to follow his heart. To create the destiny that he wanted for himself and the one he loved.”

Cullen gave her hand a weak squeeze. “For what it’s worth, Nerin, I think-”

_She will die and you’ll never see her again_

“-I think you’ll forge a wonderful destiny within the Wardens. Maybe not the one you wanted, but the one that will truly make a difference. You deserve better than the Circle Tower.”

Nerin’s hand withdrew. “You only say that because I’ll be on a different leash.”

“That’s…unfair,” said Cullen slowly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just- I’m tired and scared and I don’t know what’s about to happen-” She fumbled for Cullen in the dark. “I’m going to lose you. You can’t leave and I can’t stay.”

“You’re not leaving til the morning. We have tonight,” he said softly. “Whatever you want, whatever you need – just know that I’m here for you.”

Nerin’s hands found Cullen’s face, traced the outline of his strong jaw, his short hair, his silken lips.

“I…I love you, Nerin. And a part of me always will.”

She pulled his lips to hers, and in the darkness of the storeroom, they let their love consume them.

* * *

 

_Winter Palace, 9:44 Dragon_

Nerin slowly blinked open her eyes, painfully aware of the fog swirling around her brain and invading every cell and nerve bundle.

_Where is the elf where is he where’d he_

She swung her legs around, sat up and took stock of the situation. She lay in a modest-looking but comfortable bed inside a small room with two medium-sized rectangular windows at the other end.

_Calm down you’ll hurt yourself_

_The elf must be stopped HE IS DANGEROUS you have the power YOU POWER_

There was a small desk next to the bed and an empty, sumptuous-looking wooden chair next to the door. There were extra blankets stacked at the foot of the bed, and the air smelt distinctly of herbs and acid wash.

_Infirmary no private recovery room no wait I can’t_

_Find the ELF!_

She grabbed the edge of the bed with her hands, repeatedly flexing her fingers until the leaden digits began to warm and tingle as blood returned to them. She tapped her toes across the soft carpeting.

_Stand up you gotta STAND UP_

She pressed down experimentally with her right foot. It felt neither good nor bad.

_Gotta stand gotta stand MOVE RUN_

Nerin gathered her strength, pushed down on her limbs and vaulted into a standing position.

For a few glorious seconds, she was upright.

The first step sent her tumbling straight into the nearby chair.

She heard something crack and felt hardwood collide with her hea-

* * *

Nerin opened her eyes again and immediately regretted it. Fire burned within her skull, and she hissed in pain.

“Ah! Excellent! You’re awake,” said a pleasant voice.

She looked towards the source: a young, fresh-faced, brown-skinned man with a rather impressive moustache was seated in the very chair she had collided with, a good-sized book in hand. His bespectacled face peered at her over the top of the spine.

“I must say, you’re becoming rather difficult to keep alive with your apparent suicidal tendencies ranging from the grand and noble-hearted to the small and incredibly stupid.” He tapped one of the chair arms. “I don’t know what possessed you to start walking without supervision, particularly after suffering such an attack.”

_How do I talk what do I say words are so STRANGE_

“I didn’t want to be a fuss,” croaked Nerin, her face turning red with embarrassment as she finally remember how to speak.

The man smiled knowingly. “Ah, that old familiar feeling. At times, a near fatal inclination for the both of us.”

Nerin raised an eyebrow.

The man signed. “I suppose you want the details. Very well: the impact resulted in severe swelling which proved immeasurably difficult to control. Fortunately, Commander Cullen made it clear in no uncertain terms – frequently, I might add – that he would make the short remainder of my life unpleasant and painful should I allow you to die.” He conspiratorially leaned towards her. “And here I thought we’d become friends after all this time,” he simpered, wagging his eyebrows disappointedly.    
“Amatus had a word or two to say about that, of course, and there was a lot of yelling and shouting and _very_ impressive gesticulating, but eventually I calmed them both down.”

Nerin had to take a mental step back and properly process all that she had just heard. Memories of fourteen years past began to bubble back to the surface of her mind. “Cullen is _here_?” she asked, daring not to believe the man’s words.

The man’s eyes lit up in surprise. “You know Commander Cullen? But-” His eyebrows twitched. “Ah, of course. Kinloch Hold. You two were stationed there at the same time.”

“I would hardly call my situation ‘stationed,’” said Nerin, rolling her eyes for the first time. “I didn’t submit a request to enter the service of the Circle. ‘Please, sir,’” she said mockingly, “’forcibly take me away so I don’t avenge myself on the mob who killed my parents for daring to protect their daughter from people who’d rather fear than understand her power.’”

The man’s face softened. “I’m very sorry for your loss. Truly. But in a way, it makes me glad for you.” He looked wistful. “Your parents did something incredibly selfless out of their love for you. Parents have done far worse things in the name of love.”

Nerin sensed that there was a story behind those words but she was not in a frame of mind to pursue it. “I should thank you, good sir.”

The man chuckled. “Oh dear, let’s not go that far just yet. I am a member of the Magisterium, after all, and we are not to be trusted for anything.”

Curiosity and alarm forced Nerin into a sitting position. The man sensed her discomfort and moved to placate her. “Easy now,” he warned. “I promise I’ve done nothing untoward in my spellcasting and harbor no ill will towards you.” He looked her up and down and sniffed. “Though I must confess, I’m a trifle jealous of your alleged spirit abilities – not nearly as jealous as Madame de Fer, though she’d _never_ admit to such a _petty_ thing as jealously. They’re quite impressive.”

Nerin was starting to feel overwhelmed again. “I’d like to see Commander Cullen, please,” she said softly.

“Of course,” said the man, rising from the chair. “And judging from his death threats to me, he’ll be happy to see you too.”

“Wait,” asked Nerin as the man opened the door. “What is your name, sir?”

“No ‘good’ this time?” chuckled the man. “Ah, serves me right for revealing my Teventine heritage.” He gave her an audacious bow. “Dorian of House Pavus, recently engaged to his excellence the Inquisitor Trevelyan, at your service.”

Nerin looked at him curiously. “The Inquisitor brought me here?”

“Well, yes. He said some sort of ghost attacked Solas during their little medical meet-and-greet. Apparently you got a good shot off before the pointy-eared runt grabbed you and blasted you to high heaven, turning ghost into flesh.”

Dorian turned to leave, but turned back for a final remark. “And, I should add, he had to carry you back to the party with only one remaining arm. I would be extra considerate in your thanks to him.”

Dorian slipped out the door and closed it behind him. Nerin sank back into the pillows and contemplated things.

_“I must confess, I’m a trifle jealous of your spirit abilities – not nearly as jealous as Madame de Fer…”_

Something had been bugging Nerin ever since she first woke up, and now that she’d had more than a moment’s consciousness and some stimulating conversation, she started to investigate, piece things together.

_Spirit abilities._

She’d been out for a long time. Longer than any time in the last ten years, at least. And that shouldn’t have happened. Even in her unconsciousness her powers should have kicked in, protected her, healed her. And they hadn’t.

_Gone gone away taken you can’t run_

The realization hit her like a charging ogre, and her body flooded with horror and panic. She reached for the spirit world and was met with only silence. She scrambled through her mind, trying to remember the words, the spells, the ancient wisdom that had transformed her from a feeble warrior to an unflinching god and it felt like wind whistling through an abandoned building: empty and desolate. The familiar presence of the arcane warrior’s knowledge, which had fueled her being like a sun burning within her soul, was no longer there.

The elf had stripped her of it all, never, she suspected, to be found again.

_Never to be used against him you were too powerful you were a GOD and gods BROOK NO CHALLENGE from their rivals-_

Nerin screamed.

The chair burst into flames. Then the small table. Then the bed.

She heard the door open, then heard it slam against the wall, then felt the chilling presence of ice. The fire died.

“Sorry about the mess, but in my experience frostbite easier to treat than burns,” said Dorian in a raised, strained tone.

“Never mind that,” snapped a familiar voice.

_Cullen…_

And then someone sat her up and threw his arms around her.

The embrace was familiar and yet different at the same time. It felt stronger, more sure of itself. It felt thicker: the armor was bigger, more elaborate, something befitting a commander rather than a lowly guard. But it still felt loving. Still felt safe.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Her screams became wails which became sobs which became silent tears.

All the while he held her, not saying a word, just simply _being_ there.

The world slipped away without her realizing it.

* * *

The third time Nerin woke, she saw Cullen sleeping in the chair.

He was hunched over, his body leaning over to the right, and a small sliver of drool leaked from the corner of his mouth.

It was ridiculous, and silly, and yet encapsulated so much of Cullen’s personality and character – at least the Cullen she knew. She couldn’t be sure how much of her reaction to the hug and its giver were purely from nostalgia versus an accurate and keen judgment of his current character.

_Counterpoint: sleepy drooling people_.

Nerin giggled, and Cullen burst into wakefulness with a panicked look. A little ball of spit fell from the corner of his mouth onto the floor. He looked dazedly at Nerin.

“Did I fall asleep?” he asked incredulously. “I didn’t mean to. I promised Dorian I’d keep an eye on you.”

“And now you are keeping your _eyes_ on me. Double than what he was expecting. I think he’ll be pleased about that.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Maker’s breath,” he moaned. “I’ve never heard you snark in my entire life and yet five minutes with _Magister Pavus_ is all it takes to acquire some cheek.”

Nerin smiled sadly. “In fairness, my disposition dropped from ‘sunshine and puppies’ to ‘dark and twisted’ in fairly short order. There wasn’t much time to develop a world-weary cynicism carefully dispensed with sizzling quips.” She nodded towards the door. “I’m sure he could rehabilitate me, though. He seems like an excellent teacher.”

“If only his chess skills were as competent as his mouth,” smirked Cullen. “The bastard cheats, at _chess_ of all things, where it shouldn’t be possible to cheat!” Cullen wiggled his head proudly. “I still have the winning record, of course.”

Nerin looked at him curiously. “I never knew you played chess,” she said softly.

Cullen scratched his head sheepishly. “Well we weren’t exactly encouraged to have fun back in the Circle. ‘Escort the mages here, supervise the mages there, terrorize and isolate the mages over there…’” he said, pointing mockingly at various areas of the room.

“Kiss the mages over there,” she smiled.

He flushed. “Well,” he said, clearly flustered. “Only if they asked nicely.”

They settled into an uncomfortable silence. Nerin finally decided to break it. “How…how have you been, Cullen? It’s been so long, I-”

_Think slow down think breeeeeeathe_

Nerin stopped and Cullen sensed her discomfort. “We don’t’ have to do this now, the catching up thing. It can wait.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I need to – I need to talk. Talk a lot. I haven’t done much of it, and while I know how to do it doing it is-”

“-strange,” finished Cullen. “Like waking up from a dream and remembering what has transpired, yet being unable to describe it.”

“Exactly,” said Nerin, surprised at the accuracy of his assessment.

“So…what happened after Amaranthine? Most accounts remain the same up to that point but afterwards…”

“It’s shrouded in mystery,” she said, smiling. “I…I was tired, and heartbroken, and I didn’t want to have the world on my shoulders anymore. I spent more and more time in the Fade: My abilities as an arcane warrior allowed me to slip between the Veil with ease. I stopped eating, drinking, and drew all my sustenance from the spirit world around me. Then one day-” she fingered with the sheets, “-I just stopped being corporeal. I was shadow and spirit and I wandered between worlds as though a ghost.”

“What…what was that like?” he swallowed.

Nerin’s look of longing and regret nearly broke his heart. “It was _bliss_. I’d never felt so free in my entire life. I could go anywhere I wanted, I felt boundless, unbreakable. I was able to study things that most mages could only dream of doing, go places where no mortal mage would dare to tread – and battled things that would consume most men’s nightmares,” she added darkly. “And for the most part, I won. If I was forced away, I would gather more power and return for a second try.” She smiled defiantly at Cullen. “I never had to return for a third.”

“Maker’s breath,” he breathed. “I can’t even imagine.”

“I would solve problems. A wandering spirit here, a possessed mage there, a crying child lost in the night. I solved the Blight problem, too,” she said beaming. “I found the last two dragons, but-” She tried to add something, but she seemed to have trouble speaking. “They were-” Tears started rolling down her face. “Damn that pointy-eared bastard! He took it from me. The Old Gods-”

Cullen scrambled over to the bed and held her. “I can’t remember a thing. I can’t remember a thing,” she repeated over and over, and he cooed and shh’d until at last she regained herself.

“Solas – Fen’Harel – is a power enemy," he said reassuringly. "There’s no shame in having lost to him. He fooled us all.”

Nerin shook her head and took a ragged breath. “I felt him wake, before the Breach. I tracked him down, I saw him, but thought that whatever he was, he was too weak to do any real damage.” She looked down ashamedly. “If I’d stayed, perhaps I could have stopped Corypheus from doing what he did. Perhaps I could've stopped everything before it began.”

“What Corypheus did is not on you or anyone else but Fen’Harel,” insisted Cullen. “Do not blame yourself for _his_ failings.”

“Anyways,” sniffed Nerin, “once Fen’Harel started awakening Eluvians and gathering power, I was able to track him again. I realized he was dangerous and waited for an opportunity to end his life. Your Inquisitor gave me the first real shot to catch him off-guard.”

“Damon told me you got a shot in,” said Cullen proudly. “A pretty nasty one by all accounts.”

“A whole lot of good that did me,” she snorted. “Next thing I know he has me by the neck, hits me with overwhelming magic and next thing I know I’m waking up-” she feebly waves her arm, “-and my spirit powers are gone. It’s like I never had them. I’m not only blocked from them; he’s taken the knowledge of how to use them as well.” The tears well in her eyes again. “I’m stuck here,” she sobbed.

“At least you still have the rest of your magic,” Cullen said softly. “I think your pyrotechnics display proved that much,” he added as a small chuckle escaped his lips.

Nerin sniffed thoughtfully and managed a smile.

They sat together in silence until someone knocked on the door. “Commander Cullen?” came the inquisitorial voice.

“Piss off!” yelled Cullen, and they heard footsteps quickly receding into the distance. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “That was a little harsh.”

“Look at you. You finally learned how to swear,” teased Nerin.

“I’ve learned a lot of things in the past fourteen years,” he said gravely.

“Do you…do you want to talk about it?” she asked hesitantly.

Cullen had kept the full weight of his experiences to himself. Leliana, being the spymaster, knew all the _details_ , yes, but the emotional weight was something that Cullen had decided to deal with by himself – not with Leliana, not his mother or his sisters, or anyone else. The lyrium problem he'd shared with Damon only because it directly affected his ability to command.

His trauma had molded him into the person he was today, into the man who now led one of the greatest military operations in the world – but it also isolated him.

Nerin was offering him a lifeline, not just for himself, but for her own sake as well. She needed someone to connect to, to remind her of what life amongst the real and tangible was like again. She needed someone to share _her_ pain with.

He couldn’t be there for her during the Blight, but he was not going miss the opportunity sitting in front of him now.

“Do you have a couple days?” he said, deciding to keep things light for one last moment. “This might take a while.”

“I’ve got nothing but time,” said Nerin sincerely. “You can still trust me, Cullen. I’m listening."

* * *

 

As Nerin began to rebuild, the Inquisition dismantled. Supplies were rerouted, staff reassigned and plans made for the new way of things. Some of the Inquisitor’s companions left, but others stuck around.

Dorian tried to help Nerin beat Solas’ memory block through meditation, spellcasting, and memory walks. Vivenne offered her knowledge as a spirit warrior, and put Nerin through grueling training every day for a solid month. Neither path offered Nerin any tangible measure of success or progress, but the socialization and routine did much more for her health and well-being than any of the magical arts the pair employed.

Josephine helped her compose letters to the friends and family – her Warden family, her Blight family – that had all but thought her dead. Oghren, oddly enough, was the first to write back, and along with his letter came five barrels of his home-brewed ale, which Nerin happily shared with the thirsty workers of the Inquisition (but not before the Chargers made off with two of the barrels).

Nathaniel Howe sent two carts-worth of dried goods from the Arling, which he now managed as Warden-Commander.

Sigrun sent Nerin a first-edition copy of _Hard in Hightown_ , which Varric Tethras promptly seized once it arrived.

“There,” he said, scribbling his named across the cover and inside cover page. “Now it’s actually worth something,” he drawled.

Cassandra, Iron Bull, Sera and Blackwall all helped the Warden train when their work schedules permitted them to. Nerin got more bumps, bruises and broken bones in those two months than she’d had in years, but it was good to fight again. It was good to really _know_ how to fight again, to feel her belovéd Vigilance gripped tightly in her palm, to feel the blood fly through her veins and she dodged and rolled and thrust at her opponents.

Nerin’s nights were spent with Cullen. They talked for hours and hours in the safety of Nerin’s room.

Cullen vented his demons from Kinloch Hold, and from Kirkwall, giving an ugly but necessary voice to the fears he still had about mages even as he bared his soul to one.

Nerin spoke about the first time she ventured into the Black City, a thoughtlessly dangerous expedition that now made her shiver at the very idea, but had to stop as her memories failed her – another unexpected consequence of Solas’ attack.

Cullen spoke about kicking his lyrium addiction, and the expression of pride on Nerin’s face filled his heart with a gladness he’d not felt in years.

Nerin told him about rescuing a village haunted by three pride demons, and he looked so engaged, so rapturous in his attention that Nerin had to look away for fear she’d blush.

She would advise him on how best to redeploy the Inquisition’s resources, and though he’d give her a withering look and tell her to stop bugging him, he did so lovingly and almost always followed her advice. In turn, he taught her how to play chess. She was a quick study, and while she wasn’t at his level yet, she provided Cullen with endless entertainment in her matches against Dorian and Iron Bull.

Two months later, Nerin caught Cullen doing his morning exercises; his chest muscles lay bare and gleaming in the sunlight for all the training yard to see, and she realized that she’d never seen him naked before.

Two hours later, her curiosity was sated.

“Well,” she said breathlessly as Cullen stilled beneath her, their bodies sweaty and singing with pleasure. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I want to do that again,” he said, grinning.

Nerin smirked and carefully flipped them over so he stayed inside her. “So do I,” she whispered in his ear.

* * *

Leliana kept fiddling with the flowers, and Nerin had just about had it.

“You’re going to mess up my hair if you keep doing that,” she warned.

“Don’t be daft!” said Leliana, ignoring Nerin’s admonition. “I know what I’m doing and you don’t.”

Nerin opened her mouth to argue, realized that Divine Victoria had a point, and closed it again. “Sorry, I’m just – you seem to be fiddling quite a lot back there, that’s all.”

Leliana, several flowers clenched carefully in her teeth, whipped around to face Nerin. “Arranging flowers in one’s hair cannot be rushed, my dear,” she mumbled, her lips contorting into odd shapes to accommodate talking with her mouth closed. “Every blossom is a word, every petal a carefully drawn letter. You will be sending a message to the attendees, and we must ensure it is the right one.”

“Maker’s breath, does everything in this damn country involve symbolism and intrigue?” cried Nerin.

Leliana chuckled. “Even you must play the Game, even when you don’t want to, Warden-Commander. ‘Tis the way of things, but I would not have it otherwise.”

“You know, I liked you better when you were nicer and less sneaky,” grumbled Nerin.

Leliana’s hands stalled. “I _was_ sneaky back then. I hid my true self from everyone, including myself.” The flower placement resumed, though a little more rapidly than before. “But Sister Leliana of the Lothering Chantry could never have sat on the Sunburst Throne.” She gave Nerin a steely look. “So I had to stop hiding me from me. I don’t regret it. I hope you don’t either.”

Their time in Denerim erupted in Nerin’s mind, and she asked the question despite her own discomfort with the probable answer. “Leliana…did Marjolaine ever come back? Did you ever seek her out?”

Leliana stopped again. “Yes,” she answered simply.

“And? What happened?”

Leliana gave Nerin an opaque look. “We settled things, for good this time.”

“Is she dead?”

“Does it matter?” said Leliana flatly.

“It does to me,” said Nerin firmly, refusing to let Leliana drop her gaze, but Leliana’s eyes flashed with a cautionary anger. Nerin wisely chose to break contact, and the tension that had stifled the air between them began to dissipate.

Then she noticed a slight discoloration on Leliana’s neck. If Leliana wore her Divine robes it would be invisible to the general public - but Nerin knew a love bite when saw one. Cullen had given her plenty of late.

She decided to pounce.

“I hope I’m not prying Leliana, but…what exactly are the Chantry’s rules for Divines regarding, you know…courtship?”

Leliana laughed a little _too_ hard at that question. “Ah, the love bite gave me away. Normally it would go unseen but you and I have been alone all morning and I assumed your wedding panic would distract you from the little things. My mistake.”

“Sorry, that was a stupid que-” mumbled Nerin.

“Easily flaunted,” answered Leliana, flashing her a knowing look.

“That’s a removable offense, isn’t it?” mused Nerin worriedly.

“As Divine, I must show the Maker’s love and kindness to all who walk this great earth of ours,” Leliana said thoughtfully. “Does not the Maker’s love include the union of souls in the flesh? Is that not a good and blesséd thing? I think the Divine should set a example for the body of faith by demonstrating _all_ aspects of the Maker’s love in a healthy manner whenever possible. So I would argue that this falls well within Chantry doctrines.”

“But doesn’t that open you up to undue influence? What if someone kidnaps your lovers or magics them for nefarious purposes?”

“I have no problems taking care of myself and the ones I love,” murmured Leliana, wetting a finger and using it to secure stray strands of Nerin’s hair. “I must do, if I am to keep a place in their hearts.” Her eyes grew steely. “But the world needs the Chantry, and the Chantry needs to be a force for good, a force for change. I won’t let anything stand in the way of that, not even those closest to me.”

“So you’d kill your friends if they somehow got in the way of your ‘grand vision?’” asked Nerin firmly.

Leliana pulled back in shock. “Where on earth did you get such a notion?”

“From you! Just now!” Nerin yelled.

“Don’t be silly,” scoffed Leliana, putting two more flowers in Nerin’s hair. “Imprison them, maybe, but not kill them.”

The two stared at one another before bursting into absurdly raucous laughter. The outburst lasted for about a minute before the two of them calmed down again.

“Maker’s breath, I needed that laugh,” said Nerin, laughing a tear from her eye.

“As did I,” agreed Leliana.

“But sis, you have to promise me this: be careful, whatever you do,” pleaded Nerin, clasping Leliana’s hands. “I want you to be a force for good but I want you to protect your heart. No, not your romantic attachments,” she clarified before the Divine could interrupt, “I mean your moral heart. Take the high road a little more. Try not to stab so much.”

“I have not been stabbing-” she began.

“Cullen’s told me stories about your spymastering. Stabbity-stab-stab.”

“All necessary. Such is spycraft.”

“Even so, I get the feeling that’s still your first instinct, if not your final response,” explained Nerin. “A little less of that? Please?” she pleaded.

Leliana sighed. “I can try, perhaps. I give you no promi- oh helloooooo Schmuples!” she exclaimed as the fat, pink nug came scurrying over towards the ladies, but he went past Leliana’s outstretched hands and headed towards the hem of Nerin’s dress. Leliana finally noticed the three flowers lying on the ground, and a quick glace behind Nerin’s head revealed three, key empty spots in Nerin’s hair.

“No no no no no!” cried Leliana, but it was too late; Schmuples devoured the petals before she could reach her pet. “Damn it!” she cried.

“It’s okay, Leliana, just pick some other-”

“No! It needs to be those blossoms specifically!” she wailed. “The whole ensemble is ruined otherwise!”

Nerin wanted to point out that this was _her_ wedding and _she_ would decide what was ruined and what wasn’t, Leliana’s sensibilities be damned, but all of a sudden Leliana stopped on the spot, snapped her fingers excitedly and beamed. “Oh, that’s it! That’ll work!”

The Divine rushed over to one of her large dressers, opened a bottom drawer and quickly dumped its contents onto the floor. Nerin couldn’t see what was happening; Leliana’s body blocked her view, but Nerin heard a small click and then the scraping of a false bottom being removed from its container. Lelian pulled an old, slightly patchy but familiar robe from secret compartment.

“Is that…?” asked Nerin, gobsmacked.

“Indeed it is. I’ve had few occasions to wear it during the Inquisition, but a Chantry robe makes for an excellent disguise in the right situations.”

“Such as sneaking off to visit ones paramours in the middle of the night,” added Nerin, raising an eyebrow.

“The Saint and the Sexy Sinner is a game that never gets old. You and Cullen should try it sometime: you’ll find it most invigorating.”

“I think we’re doing just fine on our own,” declined Nerin, her face going red.

Leliana quickly stripped down and replaced her casualwear with the Chantry robe. “I’ll be back in ten minutes if I’m successful, thirty minutes if I’m not, and never if I’m extraordinarily unlucky.”

“Oh no no no,” began Nerin. “If this is some exotic, rare flower hidden in some nearby cave I am _not_ letting you risk your life for-”

“Oh, the flower is quite common, just not to this area: I picked the only known bunch at the Palace this morning. There is, however, another source of the flowers-”

“Hidden in a dangerous, nearby cave-” quipped Nerin.

“Of sorts,” admitted Leliana. “I need to break into Cassandra  Pentaghast’s room.”

Nerin wanted to protest again, but she recognized the fire in Leliana’s gaze, the determination. Nerin raised hands and closed her eyes in prayer. “May the Maker’s blessings be upon you, may his eyes cast their gaze upon you and shield you from harm, may he give you the wisdom to best use your talents.”

“That was…” Leliana gave her an odd look as she finished. “Refreshingly sincere.”

“You’re my friend, Leliana,” smiled Nerin. “I’ll always want the best for you, even when I think you’re doing something incredibly foolish and stupid. You want this day to be a good one for me, and I appreciate it, even if I don’t always understand the lengths you’ll go to.”

Leliana went to the door, peered out, and gave a satisfied nod. She turned back to Nerin. “I hope the rest of the world comes to see me as you do, Neri.”

And with that, she disappeared around the corner.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Leliana scrambled into the door and slammed it shut. “My conceit may have been compromised,” she said breathlessly, “but I’ve retrieved the item.”

“I take it Seeker Pentaghast did not take kindly to your proposed theft?” giggled Nerin, going over to Leliana to see if she’d been hurt.

“Not so much the theft so much as exposure of the item in question,” Leliana said smugly, as she pulled a large but thin-profiled wooden box from beneath her Chantry robe. She opened it up to reveal a crown of beautiful white flowers.

Nerin gasped in delight. The crown was beautiful and, furthermore, enhanted. “Is that lyrium in the flowers?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” said Leliana. “Varric was most impressed with the craftsmanship, though he wondered why someone went to such lengths to hide it. So far it’s demonstrated no special powers other than the everlasting blooms.”

Leliana carefully examined the crown, hummed satisfactorily, then yanked three of the blossoms off of it. Nerin went into shock. “You can’t…” she sputtered. “Leliana…I…no!” she shrieked.

“I’ve already spoken to Varric; he’ll happily repair it,” said Leliana, casually replacing the flowers in Nerin’s hair as if she hadn’t just ripped them from a priceless magical artifact. “Or rather, he’ll give it to his paramour. She snuck into town for the wedding.”

“Snuck into town? Why, is she a criminal or something?”

“Yes, but she’s also married,” added Leliana casually. “And there’s a contract on Varric’s head should they ever get within a hundred leagues of each other.”

Nerin gave Leliana a look that clearly asked “what-the-hell-is-up-with-that?”

“They needn’t bother with the subterfuge anymore, frankly,” she scoffed. “Now that he’s Viscount of Kirkwall with Aveline Vallen serving as Captain of the Guard, Tethras is virtually untouchable. They should have it out in the open. It’s the honest thing to do.”

“Like you and your lovers?” countered Nerin.

“My appointment is still new, and I am spending all my political capital on more pressing matters than my personal life,” said Leliana, not skipping a beat. “Were my intimate relations to become known now, it would upend and waste all the resources I’ve put into the real work of governance.” She hummed softly, and licked down a few remaining strands of Nerin’s hair. “I’ll get to the bedroom soon enough.”

Leliana stepped back and lost her breath momentarily. Even though the ensemble was simple, it was devastatingly effective: Nerin’s countenance glowed and it let her joy and beauty shine through with resounding clarity, rather than being swallowed by a fancy getup.

_Wait a minute_ , realized Leliana. _She’s actually glowing – or rather, her head is._

The enchanted lyrium, she thought, was spreading to the other flowers in Nerin’s hair.

_Merde!_ she thought exasperatedly.

“What’s wrong?” asked Nerin worriedly, seeing a strange look on Leliana’s face. The Divine cursed inwardly and quickly composed herself. “Nothing, Neri, just…” A genuine tear welled in the corner of Leliana’s eyes and quietly slid down her cheek. “You just look… _magnificent_. If we weren’t friends _I’d_ be trying to wed and bed you right now.”

Nerin blushed ever harder. “Let’s hope Cullen’s equally impressed.”

Leliana grinned slyly. “Oh, I think we both know you needn’t worry about the bedding, you sinful creatures you.”

Leliana’s pile of discarded flower stems suddenly levitated from the floor and started smacking the Divine in the face.

“Ah! No fair!” cried Leliana as the bundle chased her around the room.

“Get dressed your holiness,” said Nerin smugly as she slid out the door. “You don’t want to be late for the ceremony.”

* * *

There was an alcove in a corner of the Winter Palace gardens, and it was there that Cullen Rutherford and Nerin Amell joined in matrimony to one another.

The couple had expected a small affair: a few members of the Inquisition, and maybe a dignitary or two from Val Royeaux who felt that attendance now would pay gains later in the Great Game.

They received an avalanche instead.

Leliana and Josephine went to great lengths to contacting anyone and everyone whom they could get messages out to: old friends from the Blight, mages of Kinloch Hold who had gained prominence since leaving the Circle, friendly Templars from the Gallows.

The small garden affair quickly turned into a semi-formal matter of state. The overflow forced servants to scour the Winter Palace for every conceivable spare chair in the place.

Nerin observed the proceedings, alone in an isolated alcove. “Maker preserve us, this is getting out of hand,” she wheezed, looking out at the assembly and feeling weak. “I didn’t think it would be this big.”

“So do all who fall into bed with Zevran Arainai,” said a smooth Antivan voice behind her, “but that is rarely a problem.”

Nerin whirled around. “Zevran!” she said delightedly as she enveloped him in a fierce hug.

The former Crow gave her a toothy grin. “A pleasure to see you Warden Amell, though it is a shame to lose you forever to such a handsome man. Tell me, will your union be open to outsiders, or…”

Nerin punched him in the shoulder, and Zevran laughed. “I take that as a no,” he said, a smile of genuine happiness on his face. “No matter. I fear I’d bring a legion of assassins into bed with me, and you don’t strike me as the type of person for group sex.”

“So it’s true that-” Nerin began.

“Yes,” said Zevran, his smile turning cold. “I led the Crows, for a while anyway. A most exciting and interesting life, I must admit. The threats without are almost as great as the threats within. _Almost_ ,” He shrugged. “But such is the life of a guildmaster. In truth, I am the first to leave voluntarily in quite some time. Most guildmasters are either killed or forced out.” He fingered a dagger handle. “But I have always had extraordinary luck. I must have, to have survived the Blight with you,” he said, pointing at Nerin’s heart.

“Are you staying for the ceremony?” asked Nerin, though she already knew the answer.

“It would not be prudent,” confessed Zevran. “I’m sure there are Crow affiliates nearby who would love to have knowledge of my attendance and capitalize on it.”

Nerin thought for a moment. “You know, I’m sure the security around the rooms is fairly light right now. A quiet man could do well in a time such as this.”

“I see your point,” said Zevran carefully. “Is there any particular room I should visit?”

“The Marquis de Friscát: second floor, east wing, dragon crest, and the Duchess Generé: third floor, central wing, lily crest. If the stories Cullen’s told me are true, they both deserve to lose something expensive.” She grasped his shoulder. “Make sure your gains go to someone who needs it.”

Zevran’s eyes twinkled and he kissed Nerin on the cheek. “Felicitaciones, bella. I’m sure Commander Rutherford will treat you as you deserve to be.”

Zevran walked towards the palace door, opened it, and turned around. “…in bed.”

“Maker’s breath, Zevran!” barked Nerin as she whirled around, but the elf was already gone. Nerin shook her head but couldn’t stop a smile from erupting on her face.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” came a soft voice from behind her.

Nerin froze.

_Don’t panic don’t panic don’t_

She calmed herself down, slowly turned around and came face-to-face with Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden.

The former lovers stared at each other for several minutes, each one assessing the actions of the other, each one hoping desperately for the other to make the first move.

“Weeeeeell,” said Alistair, awkwardly rubbing his head. “This is…awkward.”

“Only if we make it so,” said Nerin quietly.

“In fairness, you married me off to my brother’s widow and saved his murderer’s life,” quipped Alistair, though not with the harshness it would once have carried. “And in my not unjustifiable anger I said I hated your guts, never loved you at all and never wanted to see you again. That tends to make things _pretty_ awkward in my estimation.”

“Has Anora been-” Nerin swallowed. “Has she been good to you?”

“ _Good_ is always a questionable term where Anora is concerned,” said Alistair hesitantly. “An effective partner? Yes. Pleasant company? On rare occasions. Scheming? _Always_. We’re…excellent administrators, if nothing else. We do have our moments, though, especially where Lily is concerned.”

Nerin’s heart rose a little. “How is she doing?”

“She’s nine years old. That tells you everything,” he said, cupping his face in exasperation. “Maker’s breath, even I wasn’t that unruly at that age.”

“Now now, don’t complain. At least you can’t pin that on me,” she quipped.

“But maybe I can,” he said, his eyes filling with solemn determination. “Stop me if you've heard this one: a little girl, sick to the point of death by a mysterious affliction, receives a visit from a spirit with big armor and kind eyes who says she knows her father the king..."

"That does sound rather miraculous. Wish I knew anything about it," she replied unconvincingly.

"The spirit said that she owed the girl's father a great deal. That they'd once been friends, and so the spirit was going to take care of the little girl," pressed Alistair.

The loss of her spirit abilities started gnawing at her, and Nerin held up her hand. “Fine, fine, I was…" she confessed. "It doesn’t matter. I don’t’ want to talk about it.”

“We weren’t even sure it _was_ you, honestly, but I just…well, _knew_. Thank you for saving her," he said earnestly.

Nerin flushed and turned her face away. “Thank you, your majesty.”

Alistair groaned and covered his face. “Maker’s breath, I’ll not have you doing that too. I need at least one friend to call me by my damned name. You’ve seen me naked for heaven’s sake; if that isn’t cause for first name basis then what the hell is?”

Nerin didn’t want to make light of his frustrations, but she saw the sweet, adorable Templar of the Blight inside the exasperated king and it filled her with glee. She burst into peals of laughter but quickly muted herself so as not to give her entrance point away to the guests. Alistair gave her a wounded look and she burst into another round of smothered giggles. Eventually Alistair cracked and emitted a few chuckles of his own before straightening up.

“Maker preserve us, this just makes this next bit weirder,” he said incredulously. “I’ve been asked by Divine Victoria to escort you down the aisle.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I think Leliana – if she’s going to rope me into this then I’ll use her real name, damn it – wants to make a political statement by having the King of Ferelden give away the former Warden-Commander of Amaranthine to the Commander of the Inquisition.”

“No one’s giving me away to anyone,” said Nerin coolly.

Alistair flailed apologetically. “Ack! Poor choice of words that.”

“I get it, though,” she responded, sighing. “I’m barely back in the world and already I’m playing politics.”

Suddenly they heard loud music from the front. “The Lion of Kirkwall,” he smirked. “They must be walking him up.”

“Cullen has a song?” she said, surprised. “He never told me that.”

“It’s the price of being in charge,” said Alistair with faux-resignation. “You get streets, babies, buildings and songs named after you. It’s a shame really,” he added with a wink. He peeked around the corner. “I think Cassandra’s leading him in. I think she’s about to cry, actually…”

“The Lion of Kirkwall” ended, and afterwards, a strangely joyful rendition of “O Grey Warden” started. Alistair stiffened. “Come on. I think that’s us.” He proffered his elbow. “You don’t have to-”

Nerin grabbed his hand instead. “Friends,” she said confidently.

Alistair looked surprised, then grateful. “Friends,” he said, nodding.

* * *

Nerin and Cullen now stood before the altar.

“We are gathered here in this holy place, to witness and affirm these two peoples in the eyes of the Maker,” proclaimed Leliana, now clad in her Divine regalia. “If there are any who would object to this union, speak now and state your case before this assembly.”

Nerin squeezed Cullen’s hand nervously.

“Don’t worry; I scared them all into silence earlier,” he whispered.

“Having received no objections from the general body, I now invite the couple to exchange their vows.” Leliana looked at Cullen first. Cullen momentarily panicked, but it faded away and he opened his mouth to speak.

“I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste, to love this woman for the rest of my days,” he said fervently.

The crowd waited with baited breath for the rest of it.

“That’s all that needs to be said to you lot, anyway,” he shouted, and a raucous cheer went up. He looked squarely in Nerin’s eyes. “Anything else I promise to you alone,” he murmured. “You’re what matters.”

The crowd went all a titter and “ooo’s” and “aww’s” rippled throughout, though some grumbled that such a short vow was highly undignified for a formal ceremony. Leliana gave Cullen a seething look, but he stared her down hard, and in the end she rolled her eyes and gave up.

“That’s what I get for trusting you to write something appropriate,” she hissed so only they could hear.

“Piss off,” whispered Nerin.

Cullen looked at Nerin in surprise. She grinned. "You can't be the only one who has fun with words, now."

Leliana coughed tersely and looked expectantly at Nerin.

“I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste, to love this man for the rest of my days,” began Nerin, “to help him bear his secrets and his troubles, to help him in the good times and the troubled ones, to keep him in sickness and wellness. Today we start anew, and whatever challenges we face, whether within our union or without, I do so with a new heart and mindset, one that remembers the past without chaining myself to it.” She squeezed his hand. “I hope you do the same.”

Someone on the front row burst loudly into tears; Cullen looked over to see Varric handing Cassandra two gigantic tissues. The Seeker mouthed “not one word” to the dwarf, who smiled and put a finger to his lips.

_Damn it, Cass, you just lost me 20 gold to that rascal!_ thought Cullen disappointedly.

“Having exchanged vows, by my authority as Divine, representative of the Maker and Andraste on earth, I pronounce you duly wed. You may kiss,” Leliana concluded happily.

A great cheer went up as the newlyweds smashed their lips together. After a good ten seconds the pair finally pulled away.

“Just know, everything feels like it was worth fighting for,” said Cullen.

“Good, because we’re not done fighting yet,” she said, smiling. “This is just the beginning.”

“Barely wed and we’re already brawling? That hardly seems like a good omen,” quipped Cullen.

“I think you’ll like this fight,” she said, hesitantly biting her lip.

“What’s it about?” asked Cullen breathlessly.

“Baby names.”


End file.
